His last words
by Trebblerdemon
Summary: Gambit finds that he has a lot to deal with from his past, and that sometimes, watching movies late in the night isn't good for you.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer:  
  
X-men, and in particular Gambit (Remy Entienne LeBeau, that this story is about), are the creations of Marvel Entertainment Company. I don't have any connection with them whatsoever, and haven't even asked for permission to use them. I just borrow their characters because of my own lousy imagination can't come up with as good characters as they do.  
  
The Green Mile is a wonderful book/movie by Stephen King, and I haven't asked him if I could use his works either. But I am writing this to show that I do care if people know this...I am using quotes from the book, sometimes a bit freely translated back to English (because my copy's in Swedish), but I hope they are somewhat right.  
  
I'm no genius. I am happy to know my own language (Swedish) and English well enough to operate a ordinary everyday life. But I have used french here that I couldn't tell you what it meant, not for the life of me. So, spelling in French...that's something happening to other people. I have a dictionary that my mother used in the 70's. Have patience with me.  
  
Don't sue...I write this for fun, and fun only. When I want/need money, I have a job where I work my hands to the bone...I barely have time to write as it is, so a lawsuit would give me even less time to have fun. And less money to buy food for.  
  
I think that should do it. Now read and enjoy.  
  
1.1 His Last Words  
  
"Marie! Je vous salute, Marie, oui, pleine de grâce; le Seigneur est avec vous; vous êtes bénie entre toutes les femmes, et mon cher Jésus, le fruit de vos entrailles, est béni.  
  
Marie, ô ma mère, Mère de Dieu, priez pour moi, priez pour nous, pauv' pécheurs, maint'ant et à l'heure....l'heure de notre mort. L'heure de mon mort. Ainsi soit'il."  
  
-S. King, The Green Mile 1996  
  
1.1.1 Chapter 1  
  
The words rang through the cellblock. Block E. The Last Block. The Last Mile. The Green Mile, named by both guards and the various temporary inmates after the colour of its walls and floor, a distinct, ugly green colour. Cells lined it almost from the beginning to its end, but most of them were empty.  
  
All but one, in fact. All but the one closest to the guards desk by the door. The one where they could most easily had him under observation. The one where he couldn't hide away and end his misserable excuase for a life before it was handed over to 'Old Sparky', or whatever that stupid nickname for the horror called the Electric Chair was...  
  
In the other end of the Green Mile it waited. He could hear the screams of those who had sat in the chair before him. It was an inanimate thing. It couldn't be alive. Not in any way or sense. Yet it waited. Patiently. Waited for some stupid little man in his stupid little office to decide that this date, indeed, was a good day for Remy Entienne LeBeau to die...  
  
Gasping for air, Remy opened his eyes and sat up in his bed. A nightmare. He cursed under his breath as he turned the switch of the lamp.  
  
"Mon Dieu..." he muttered, watching his hand as it shook like a leaf. "No more watchin' late movies 'fore bedtime, eh..?" He tried, but couldn't quite bring himself to smile. No, this dream had been so vivid, so alive... It was as if he could still feel the smell of the cell he had been in, still could feel the chilly iron bars between his hands, still could feel the guards' looking him with a mix of disgust and contempt...as if he had done something terrible. Must have been that movie, right? Had been just like it, as he could remember. And hadn't one of the poor devils that was electrecuted been cajun? Enough for his mind to make a nice little nightmare out of it. He sighed and turned over, trying to fall asleep again. Just a nightmare. Nightmares weren't real. Ad if they once were gone, they seldom came back. Not at once, at least.  
  
The next morning, he stumbled down to breakfast with his red-on-black eyes laying deep and dark rings deep enough to be mining shafts under them. Answering all the greetings and mumblings from the other residents of the mansion with a barely audiable 'Bonjour', he poured his coffee with hands that he could barely keep from shaking. Logan lifted his gaze from the sportssection, and frowned.  
  
"You 'kay, Gumbo?" His question made the others turn their gazes towards him aswell, and Remy nodded and smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring way.  
  
"Oui, no worries." he replied, without realizing that he at the moment looked like he was about to faint. "Jus' a li'll tired, 's all."  
  
"Ah think's looks more like ya gonne fall face flat inta you're breakfast, shuga'" Rouge said with a worried frown on her forehead. "Wha's the matter? Been up all night whatchin' movies 'gain? Ya knew we 'ave a session now in tha mornin', and what Scott thinks..."  
  
Remy shook his head, carefully. It hurt to make any movement to hasty, and small flashes of light behind his eyelids told him that this was not just plain loss of sleep...  
  
"Non, jus' coul'n't sleep." he said shortly, and then turned his attention to the still hot coffee in his hands, ignoring the exchange of looks around the table.  
  
'Coffey, like the drink, but it's not spelled the same way.'  
  
He nearly sprayed the contents in his mouth over the table, but managed to swallow instead, even if it cost him a coughing fit worthy a smoking 103- year old with psneumonia. Logan got up and slapped him powerfully in the back, trying to help in a way that might be as old as the human race.As the coughs slowly ebbed away, Remy motioned for him to stop.  
  
"Gentil, mon ami....'fore you break my ribs..." he croaked, and thankfully stretched out for the glass of water that Jean held out for him. 'Merci..' he muttered and drank carefully.  
  
Logan sat down again and shook his head as he picked up the sportsection again.  
  
"Mind tellin' us what it's 'bout this time, huh?" he asked before he seemingly forced his gaze down to the hockeyresults, trying to sound and act casuall.  
  
"Oui." Remy sighed, and then got up, leaving the cup halfempty. "I mind." he said quietly before he left the kitchen, heading out the main entrance.  
  
But, he wouldn't have minded, if he only had know what was going on with him 'this time'... He knew what people would think if he told them about the nightmares. And the voice. He only heard it once, so far, but to judge from what it said, it would have to be connected with the nightmares...Suddenly, he wished that he hadn't been so fond of watching scary movies late at night...or any movies at all, for that matter. It wasn't as if last night's movies had been horror movies, they just had a little element of suprise and/or suspense in them...  
  
Sighing, he shook his head and stepped into the shower, relaxing slightly as the warm water embraced him. The warm steam swept up towards the ceiling, and he smiled. That's right. He'd get some sleep, and everything would come back to normal...and he'd stop watching movies before bedtime, at least for a while, to see if it helped.  
  
'I tried to take it back...but it was too late.'  
  
With a yelp, he spun around, almost expecting the huge John Coffey, as he was pictured in the movie, to stand behind him, but his gaze only fell on the empty bathroom.  
  
"Was' goin' on?" he asked out loud, more than happy to accept it as one of Bobby's pranks, or Jube's ideas of 'fun'. But no answer came. He looked around, and even if he was in a hot shower, he felt cold shivers run up his spine. There was something he couldn't explain going on here, and he didn't like things he couldn't understand more than the next person...  
  
When there were a loud knocking on the door, he jumped and realised that he'd been standing frozen, stareing at nothing for God knows how long.  
  
"Who 's it?" he called, and got a gruff answer from Logan, that if Remy didn't get his ass out of the bathroom he'd pull the door down. Remy frowned, and turned off the water, muttering in cajunfrench to himself as he pulled a towel around his waist and opened the door. He was suprised to find that not only Logan was outside, but Bobby, Hank, Warren and Kurt where there aswell, all with worried expressions.  
  
"Wa's goin' on out 'ere, eh? Can't a man 'ave some privacy in de shower 'nemore, hm?" He grinned, convinced that if there had been a greater emergency, they wouldn't have worried about warning him before they tore the door down...They just stared at him for a couple of seconds, and then Logan shook his head.  
  
"I don't know how much 'privacy' you need, Gumbo, but three hours with the water runnin' is on the outside, don'tchathink?"  
  
"W'at!?" Remy blinked. Three hours...They must have read the suprise on his face before he remembered to hide it, because they all looked even more worried now. Even Bobby and Warren, who had never cared much for him at all.  
  
"Can't be right..." he muttered, and shook his head, frowning. Three hours lost just stareing at nothing...couldn't be right, could it? He looked at them again, and almost pleaded;  
  
"Can it?" They didn't answer, but Logan held out a hand towards him.  
  
"Come on, Gumbo." he said in a friendly tone. "I think ya woul' just need some sleep and ya'll be right as rain." Nodding slowly, Remy took Logans hand and was gently led towards his room. He hoped Logan was right. He really hoped. Because the alternative...it was unthinkable. 


	2. Chapter 2

1.1.1 Chapter 2  
  
He could hear one of the other prisoners sing. It wasn't an unpleasant sound, the singer had a rather nice tenor, and knew the tune well enough to stay on it more than a few seconds. But it seemed to irritate one of the guards. Remy sighed to himself, silently. It was that evil man.  
  
He who enjoyed beeing mean. The others were allright, considering that they had to do some things, but they tried to be nice...after all, this was the place few left other than with their feet first...But this one, he was downright mean. He had seen the type before. Even fought them. But that was before...They were like kids who tortured flies, just to watch them crawl around without their wings. Just to see what would happen next. The kind of person who'd turn a turtle on it's back, just to see if it could make it back on the right side, and if it did, if it could do it again...and again...He curled up on his narrow bed and tried to shut out the shoting that replaced the singing, and later, the screams. This wasn't right. It wasn't right at all. He wasn't supposed to die like this...  
  
He sat up, sweating, stareing into the darkness. A quick look at the digital watch at the side of his bed told him that he had managed to sleep for almost half an hour since last time. Twenty minutes past one. He curled up where he sat, shivering and covering his face with his shaking hands.  
  
"Merde...I mus' be goin' crazy..." he whispered, and tried to hold back the feelings of panic. He could remember the words he had heard earlier, could almost see them on the inside of his eyelids, burning brightly in his memory. And he knew where they came from. But why were they affecting him so deeply? Why was this affecting him at all?  
  
'I tried to take it back..but it was too late.'  
  
Later the same night, someone knocked on his door. Another look at the watch. Ten past four.  
  
"Oui?" he asked as he sub-conciously stretched towards his clothes. "Who's dere?" he added, as he quickly pulled on a pair of black trousers, and walked towards the door.  
  
"Remy? Are you all right in there?" Kurt asked from the other side of the closed door. He sounded worried, and Remy cursed under his breath. He must have been making noise...screaming or something. He didn't like the idea of seeming wounerable. Ruffling his hair and quickly arranging his features into a sleepy but puzzled smile, he opened the door.  
  
But he hadn't needed to bother. Kurt gave him just a sharp look, and then shook his head.  
  
"You don't have to hide it for me, Remy. I know you have trouble."  
  
Mildly shocked, but still determent to hide it, Remy blinked.  
  
"Trouble?" he asked innocently. "I'm in trouble again? Merde, I wish people woul' start tellin' me firs' when dat happens..."  
  
Kurt frowned at him, apparently not pleased that he was trying to joke it all away.  
  
"I appreciate de concern, mon ami," Remy added quickly, "but dere is nothin' for you to worry 'bout. Je jurer."  
  
With a sigh, Kurt shook his head, but left him alone.  
  
"If you say so, Remy. If you say so."  
  
Then he was alone again. He held back an impulse to call Kurt back, and tell him...tell him what? That he was going crazy, but no need to worry, he'd soon be mad enough to kill himself? Or get himself killed in a session or on a mission? He sighed, and the impulse faded. He couldn't. He had to solve this on his own. He returned to his bed and hoped for a couple of hours sleep.  
  
"Okey people, heads up. Today we need to work a little more on that ol' teamspirit, we are starting to break up all to much, fight as..." Scott droned on, and Remy sighed silently, letting his face take a 'listening' expression, as he tried to concentrate on staying on his feet. Last night hadn't given much more sleep, and it was starting to tear on him. He suddenly felt an elbow in his side, and started. Looking down, suprisedly, he met Marrows glare.  
  
"Don't fall on your face already, cajun. I want the chance to beat you up first." she hissed, barley audiable in Scotts lecture. Remy blinked, and tried to clear his head. Beat him up? Was it her sense of humour again? He wasn't really sure when it came to Marrow. After she had found out about him being the leader of the Marauders during the Morlock Massacre, she hated him...she had seemed to come to terms with him being around, but she didn't like him anymore just because they had to fight togeather. The fog in his mind slowly cleared, as he could start to concentrate on what Scott said again.  
  
"...and we, both I and the professor, trust you to be careful now, and fight togeather in the teams we have set up. But remember, we're not starting this out on any old level 1 today, we're right up there with a level 5." That seemed to conclude it, and people divided into two teams. Kurt made a discrete gesture towards Remy, motioning him towards his group, and he couldn't do much else than follow with a thankful nod.  
  
It was an old nightmare. It had haunted him many times, more than he could remember. He was young, and had helped his cousin during his initiation into the Thieve's Guild...but they had been captured, and Entienne had died during the escape. Even if his death had been avenged, Remy still kept on dreaming about that horrible day when they had tried to escape from Pig's pen. The first time he could remember that he had loaded a card with the kinetic energy he could concentrate, and thrown it at Pig himself...taking the toll of an eye, losing his cousin and best friend.  
  
But this time, the dream had changed. He hadn't been able to save his cousin when he fell towards the sea, but now, in the dream, he wasn't even able to save himself. He landed, without knowing or careing how he survived such a fall, on a cliff, with a black shape over him. He was shaking, not even trying to defend himself, but the shape stabbed him with what seemed to be a bone dagger, over and over again. He cried, could feel the salty wetness of tears on his lips, as he whispered, pleaded, screamed.  
  
"I tried to take it back...but it was too late!"  
  
As he yelled it out, one last time, he caught the face of his attacker. Marrow. She was laughing at his words, laughing bitterly.  
  
"Liar! You killed us all! You killed me!" she replied, as she cut his throat with her sharp, white dagger. Warm blood gushed out over his chest, and he coughed, couldn't breathe, fought to get a hold of her, but couldn't even lift his hands...the darkness came over him, and...  
  
He sat up, gasping. A dream. Again, another dream. His heart raced, pounding quickly as he steadied himself. Throwing a glance at the watch on his wrist didn't make him feel any better. Half past ten! There was still more than enough night left to make him relive that dream more than once...Sighing, he got up and dressed up in his battle gear. He had to do something...if nothing else, he had to stay awake.  
  
The Danger Room was silent and abandoned. The others would keep away, now that Scott was having one of his 'moods', when the days were filled with sessions and battle training, not to mention all those happy little comments that would make them into a 'mean, lean team'.  
  
But Remy couldn't stay away. There were something nagging on his mind. He had dreamt about Marrow, and he knew that it was his concience that had triggered the dream. Perhaps all of the other dreams aswell? The words fitted in perfectly. He had tried to stop them, to 'take it back'...but it was too late, and he couldn't fight them. He had been too weak. So he had just been able to save a child, that he had taken in his arms. Not that it mattered, she and the other morlocks hated him. Because he had been stupid, or evil, enough to work for Sinister, togeather with Sabretooth, amongst others. He had been a Marauder. He couldn't make that undone. But he could try to take it back... 


	3. Chapter 3

1.1.1.1 Disclaimer: As usual, I don't own this stuff. I just borrow the Xmen because Marvel make soooo much better characters than the crappy little mental midgets I can come up with.  
  
1.1.1.2  
  
1.1.1.3 Chapter 3  
  
"Some say the devil be a mystical thing  
  
I say the devil he's a walking man  
  
He a fool he a liar conjurer and a thief."  
  
-Tracy Chapman, crossroads  
  
When Remy awoke the next morning, he felt even worse. He had thought for a moment that he would have peace in mind if he worked himself to the limit, and beyond, but when he woke up it was from another nightmare. That only strengthened him in his conviction. He needed to set things straight, to take it back.  
  
Before breakfast, he packed what he thought that he might need. A few extra clothes, some packs of cards, a couple of knives for emergency cases.and a photo of the X-men. His family. More than Jean-Luc and the Guild ever had been able to be for him. And more important, Marrow was in that picture. Just in case he would forget why he was doing this. He took a last look around the room, and placed a note on his bed. He didn't want to worry anyone, but it might be best that they didn't find out what he was going to do before he was impossible to find. Then he slinged the bag over his shoulder, and headed towards the garage.  
  
It was a beautiful morning. His Harley roared under him, and the wind played with his hair, nearly tearing the roots out as he speeded past a truck and returned the rude gesture the driver sent him. He almost felt like laughing - he was going to set things right, as good as possible, or die trying. That alternative didn't sound all that bad at the moment, considering what he was going to do, but he quickly pushed away those thoughts. All he needed to do was to find the one responsible.All he needed to do was to take revenge...And then he'd be free to set things right.  
  
-Back at the mansion-  
  
Scott stared at Logan. 'What do you mean he's not in his room? He knows we have a session now, and we would have been started off if it wasn't.!' The others waited silently, as Logan handed over a note. 'He seems to be on his way to 'deal with his past', whatever that might mean.' They all knew that there was more than enough for their Cajun friend to deal with from his past, so what he was up to noone could tell for certain. 'His Harley's gone from the garage, so he could be about anywhere.' Logan continued, and then glanced at Jean. 'Ya think ya can find him?' he asked her, while ignoring the annoyed look Scott shoot him. Jean looked a bit uncertain, and then sighed.  
  
'I don't know. Perhaps with Cerebro, but.' 'But he's learned how to hide, haven't he?' Scott said, sounding both annoyed and worried. Jean nodded in agreement. 'Yes. If he doesn't want to be found, I'll be lucky to even find a trace of him.'  
  
-New York, Downtown-  
  
Remy waited patiently at the bar. He had his contacts, and now was the time to pull the strings. When he swept his gaze around the bar, he knew that he was recognized. It was the kind of place where he would be known, and in a good day avoided as well. The glass of Bourbon in front of him stood where the bartender had left it, untouched. He needed his mind around him if he was going to pull this off. Then came what he had been waiting for.  
  
'Mister LeBeau?' The voice behind him was soft and sounded well mannered. But when he turned around, he was glad that he knew what to expect.  
  
The man behind him looked like he was built two times over the ordinary human scales - almost 8 feet tall and with a large, black mane of hair hanging down over his shoulders, that were almost as broad as two ordinary men. Dressed all in black leather, he looked like some over dimensioned Hells Angel.  
  
'Oui. Long time no see, Frankie.' Remy smiled up at the larger man, who almost brushed the ceiling with the top of his head. 'Did y' fin' what I sent y' for?' Frankie nodded, and motioned towards the door. ''S right outside, mister LeBeau.' Remy nodded and picked up his bag. 'Good. Y' show de way.' He could feel everyone in the room watching them as they stepped out.  
  
On the empty street outside, Remy hessitated for a moment, then turned towards Frankie.  
  
'W'as dis, Frankie? W'ere's-' He was interupted by a sudden pain in the back of his head, and wrinkled up his face in confusion as his knees folded under him. The last he could see was Frankies sad face as he said, 'Really sorry 'bout all this, Mister LeBeau...really am.' Then a deep darkness opened under him, and the world faded away. 


End file.
